


Intrusive.

by LapisLazooti



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Brief Mention Of Wanting To Harm Himself, Dysphoria, Ford Is On His Period, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Intrusive Thoughts, Stan Comforts Ford During A Panic Attack, Takes Place When They Were In Highschool, Trans Ford, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapisLazooti/pseuds/LapisLazooti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was sick of looking at himself. Sick of looking at his body. Masked by the thick layer of cotton, where, if it weren't for the god awful aching, he could pretend none of it existed.</p>
<p>But it did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intrusive.

Teary eyes stared up at the ceiling with blurry vision. The weight of the day bore down on the six fingered boy harder than usual. His stomach ached and his chest was horribly sore - although he wasn't sure if it was from the fluctuations of hormones or the fact that he bound his chest with a very, very tight homemade under garment nearly the entire day. Probably a combination of the two. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He shivered.

He tried desperately to fall asleep, but it was no use. He'd been trying for at least an hour. Helen. Helen. Helen. Helen. It was all he heard today, and it echoed in his mind as he tried to rest that night. Perhaps that's all he heard most days, but today felt different. Stan had slipped up and called him that while they were hanging out today. An accident, he knew that, but a part of him couldn't help but intrude with the irrational whisper, 'He doesn't truly see you as his brother. He only calls you Ford when you two are alone to pacify you.'

"No." He mouthed silently. He shook; his fingers tightly clasping the hem of his blanket as he tried not to listen to the insistent thoughts. 'You're Helen to him. You're Helen to everyone. You're just delusional.' The whispers proceeded. 'You're a girl. You always will be.' 

He opened his eyes again, his breath shaky as he whispered attempts to comfort himself. "No. I am Stanford." He tried to steady his breathing. "Ford. Ford. Ford. Ford." He muttered quickly as one string of syllables, no pauses in between. He whimpered pitifully.

The cramps and the ever-growing pains in his chest seemed to nudge the thoughts deeper into his head. Horribly  intrusive, and increasing in violence. He was shaking harder than ever now, and he wanted nothing more than to completely bury himself in his blankets and bedsheets, but then he'd have to see what was under there. He was sick of looking at himself. Sick of looking at his body. Masked by the thick layer of cotton, where, if it weren't for the god awful aching, he could pretend none of it existed.

But it did.

He knew that it did, obviously. But occasionally the full force of reality hit him like a truck, about what was truly.. Under there. It was vile to him. It wasn't... A boy's body. He didn't have a boy's body. He couldn't build muscle like Stanley. He couldn't grow facial hair like Stanley. He and his brother were twins, they were supposed to be alike - but Ford had a uterus, and hips and thick thighs, and breasts which most of the time he desperately wished he could just grab his brother's switchblade and just–

"H-Hey, Stanford!"

He must have been sobbing now, or wailing. Or screaming. Because he could have sworn Stanley was asleep a few minutes ago and most definitely shouldn't be awake, kneeling at his side looking like he'd just seen a ghost.

"What's wrong?" Stanford seemed to take extra note of just how deep his brothers concerned voice was in this moment, and sobbed harder. Stanley placing his hand on Ford's back when he lurched forward to hug his knees to his chest, hypervenilating. "Sixer, you gotta breathe!" He said, almost scoldingly.

"I- I can't-!" He wheezed, his vision was completely blurred by tears and he felt like his throat could collapse on itself any second now. Stronger than that however, he felt like he would die any second now. 

Stanley had helped his brother through many sessions of panic and anxiety, but none as... Violent as this one. He crawled into the bed with him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly. "It's okay." He whispered, repeating that a few times. "Can... Can you manage to tell me what's wrong? Maybe then I could, uh, help ya better?" he asked, softly. 

"Helen," Ford bawled, "Helen is what's wrong." His words were garbled a bit through whimpers and sobs; it was a miracle his twin managed to undertand him.

"She doesn't exist anymore, Ford, she never existed. Helen was someone Mom and Dad made up." He whispered, slowly, as he swayed back and forth slightly. "You've always been my brother. You've akways been Stanford. You always will be." 

"I'll never be Ford, not really." 

"Ey, don't ever say that. I know you don't think you're a... real man sometimes, or that you aren't manly enough to be "a real man, but hell - if you ain't a real man then niether am I."

It was silent for what seemed to be a few minutes, as Ford started to calm down. He wiped his tear stained face with the blanket and let out a shaky sigh. "I'm sorry. Sometimes thoughts just start pouring in and they can't be stopped from wreaking havoc." He mumbled and pulled himself away from Stanley's grasp, taking a deep breath to compose himself. 

"Ah... I understand." He said quietly. He knew he didn't completely understand, it would be impossible for him to understand what it would be like to have those thoughts telling you that you aren't who you know you are. But damn, he knew intrusive thoughts. He knew them well.  
   
"Thank you," Stanford whispered. 

"Anything for my brother."

His abdomen still felt like it was being stabbed, there was still aching in his chest, and he was by no means okay. But he was better.

Stanley always made him better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I don't write enough, honestly, because I never have the motivation to. But when I need some trans fics... Boy am I there.


End file.
